<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Gordon Ramsay Would Be Disappointed by Orange_Coyote</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22473949">Gordon Ramsay Would Be Disappointed</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orange_Coyote/pseuds/Orange_Coyote'>Orange_Coyote</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bad Cooking, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Humor, M/M, Pre-Relationship, this is mostly banter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 10:41:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,287</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22473949</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orange_Coyote/pseuds/Orange_Coyote</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The one in which Steve and Tony are both culinary messes</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Steve Rogers/Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>POTS (18+) Stony Stocking 2019</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Gordon Ramsay Would Be Disappointed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/hundredthousands/gifts">hundredthousands</a>.</li>



        <li>In response to a prompt by
            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/hundredthousands/pseuds/hundredthousands">hundredthousands</a>  in the  <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/collections/stony_stocking_2019">stony_stocking_2019</a>
          collection.
        </li>
    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I have had so much fun with this event!<br/>Another big thank you to profoundfangirl for cheering and being great<br/>Inspired by the prompts: cheesy holiday tropes, Steve can't cook and Tony isn't much better but neither of them admit it</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Many things had changed during the years Steve lay frozen, but the bright lights of New York City at Christmas time had steadfastly remained. They were brighter now, and more prevalent. The glowing blues and reds, greens and whites, brought a smile to his face every time he walked the streets. A steaming cup of hot cider in hand, Steve would wander through neighborhoods with an air of wonder and awe. Giant inflatable reindeer and snowmen, countless light displays, and Christmas carols echoing in the air were things he would never grow tired of.</p><p>The first snow fell the week before, bringing along childlike wonder and snowball fights. Soon it turned to slush and ice, though those developments did little to dampen Steve's positive mood. Some may call him cheesy or overly sentimental, but something about the holiday spirit was infectious.</p><p>With the other Avengers following through with individual plans, only Steve and Tony remained at the Tower for Christmas Eve. In the beginning Steve had nearly fled, worried being the only other resident may make things unbearably awkward. But Tony had asked him to stay. Well, JARVIS had passed along the message that Tony had invited Steve to join him for his traditional Hallmark movie marathon. Steve had offered to make dinner and the rest was history.</p><p>As Steve bustled around the kitchen on the common floor, he wondered what had possessed him to offer to cook for the both of them. He hadn't cooked a full meal since… before crashing headfirst into a seventy year long nap. Tony made sure the kitchens were well stocked, and ordering food was as simple as speaking aloud to JARVIS about any craving he may have. Between missions and being out and about the city, he rarely stayed around the Tower long enough to have a full meal.</p><p>"Sir, you may desire to check the risotto."</p><p>Steve whipped toward the stove, dropping the knife in his hands back onto the cutting board with a loud <em>thwack. </em>From the stove a line of smoke drifted up into the exhaust vent, the contents of the pan bubbling ominously.</p><p>"I guess that's unsalvageable," Steve muttered morosely as he dumped the blackened goo into the trash can.</p><p>Of the five dishes Steve had attempted, even with the online recipes JARVIS had kindly provided, only two had survived. The turkey had been an utter failure -- what <em> was </em> basting anyway? -- though the pork chops he'd thrown together had turned out alright. Since the risotto was unsalvageable, that left mashed potatoes as their only side dish. At least he could still boil potatoes without incident. The dessert he'd planned, a majestic peppermint cheesecake, had stubbornly remained a mystery. He couldn't get it to set, no matter what he tried, so he'd grudgingly admitted defeat and purchased one. Maybe Tony wouldn't notice.</p><p>He'd just finished plating the food when JARVIS alerted him that Tony would arrive in a few minutes. Looking down at it, Steve felt it wasn't that bad.</p><p>“Honey, I’m home!”</p><p>Steve left the kitchen to meet Tony in the hallway. He’d just thrown his coat over the back of the nearest couch, JARVIS’ long-suffering sigh going unheeded, and now strode toward Steve with a covered dish in his hands.</p><p>“What’s in the bowl?” Steve asked, reaching out to take it from Tony with the manners his mother had hammered into his mind decades ago.</p><p>“Wouldn’t you like to know?”</p><p>Steve rolled his eyes, a bad habit he’d picked up since living in the tower with the other Avengers, and turned back to the kitchen to deposit the dish. “We’re going to have it for dinner, aren’t we? So you may as well tell me.”</p><p>“Patience is a virtue, Cap.” Tony grinned at the annoyed puff of air that left Steve’s lips. Steve didn’t even have to look to see the man’s smile in his mind’s eye. “Besides, you worked so hard to make us a homemade meal. I’d hate to spoil your appetite.”</p><p>“So you brought some type of dessert.”</p><p>“Nope! Good guess though.”</p><p>Steve set the dish on the island counter, finally turning to face Tony as they moved to sit at the table where Steve had set up their plates. No surprise, that smirk was just where Steve expected it. “Let’s just eat so I can see what this mystery food of yours is.”</p><p>“Touchy. Long day in the kitchen?”</p><p>“Yes, actually. Now eat.”</p><p>“Yes, sir.” Tony poked at the pork chop with his fork. “Looks alright.”</p><p>“Gee, thanks.”</p><p>“Is the great savior of our country <em> nervous </em>?”</p><p>Steve took up his knife and fork and cut a piece of pork chop for himself. “Apparently I need to lead by example.” He brought the morsel to his mouth and slid it off the tines of the fork. It took a moment to chew, though he did his best to hide any potential grimace from appearing on his face. “There. See? Perfectly fine.”</p><p>Tony followed suit, his face immediately scrunching into a look of displeasure. “Uh, yeah. Just fine.” He went for a bite of mashed potatoes and instantly took a long sip of wine. “Jesus, Cap. What did you put in these potatoes? Sand?”</p><p>“What are you talking about? There’s nothing wrong with them.”</p><p>“Did you do a taste test?”</p><p>“No. Why would I? I can make potatoes, Tony.”</p><p>“I know. But I think you should taste these.”</p><p>“Fine,” Steve acquiesced. He lifted a lump of potatoes to his mouth and muffled a displeased groan. He forced himself to swallow the gritty mess that not even copious amounts of butter could mask. “They’re fine.”</p><p>“Steve! Come on, even <em> you </em> can’t be that stubborn.”</p><p>Steve sighed, but he refused to admit defeat. “I don’t see any major problems.”</p><p>Tony stood, arms flailing. “I’m going to get the dish I made, so you can taste what actual good food is like, and then we can argue. I’m starving.”</p><p>Steve stood and followed Tony to the counter. “I’m sure I’ll be blown away.”</p><p>“Sarcasm is not a good look on you.”</p><p>Tony lifted the lid from the dish, revealing a mound of alfredo pasta. The sauce dripped down the sides in a goopy, viscous waterfall. He grabbed a clean fork for himself and handed Steve one as well. “Dig in, Cap.”</p><p>Steve hesitantly picked up a few noodles, slowly bringing them to his lips. The smell alone, a gust of garlic and onion and heavy cream, nearly made him sick enough to drop his fork. But if nothing else Steve Rogers kept to his word, so he allowed the pasta into his mouth. The sauce coated his tongue like peanut butter. He hadn’t been so thankful for the serum taking away his gag reflex since the time he’d first fought on the front lines.</p><p>“It’s… something. Definitely something else.”</p><p>“Isn’t it? It’s an old recipe. The best I ever had as a kid.” Tony took a bite of his own. Steve watched the other man’s features, looking for the smallest indication of anything belying the words bound to come out of Tony’s mouth. “Delicious.”</p><p>“Tony, this is disgusting.”</p><p>“We’ll just have to agree to disagree.”</p><p>“It tastes like a snail with a sinus infection just slid down my throat.”</p><p>“Okay! Enough with the uncalled for insults. If we’re going to insult anyone, let’s insult the Hallmark Channel and their entirely unoriginal romantic movie plots.”</p><p>They spent the remainder of the night on the couch, a tub of popcorn between them, their previous food induced traumas forgotten as they argued over who would save New York City from a soulless corporation executive who hated Christmas.</p><p>Although the food wasn't perfect, Steve had never had a better Christmas.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Edit: someone made a Russian translation of this fic!<br/>https://ficbook.net/readfic/9181229 (I have no idea how to do links please forgive me)</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>